Discoveries

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

Champ and Kenny shot panicked looks at each other and clicked immediately. They tried to open the door, but it had been blocked from the other side. Champ stepped back three paces and charged at the door with the same determination that had won him All-American honors at LSU, ripping the door off its hinges. There, standing over Ford with a pillow over his face was Nurse Hackett, A.K.A. Tommy Lee Moseby, the man who had shot Ford and then vowed to finish the job. Champ grabbed him and threw him across the room and out the door as Kenny and Nurse Spencer rushed to Ford’s aid. As Moseby scrambled to get up off the floor and make his escape, Champ went after him, but Kenny yelled out, "Get the doctor," so Champ turned toward the nurses’ station as Moseby fled in the opposite direction. Once he had alerted the staff, however, Champ resumed his pursuit.

He followed Moseby down the stairs and into the parking lot, where Moseby got into an ‘89 Ford pickup and tore out of the lot. Champ jumped into his unit and followed in hot pursuit. He chased Moseby all the way down Claiborne, picking up two or three other units along the way. By the time Moseby turned and raced toward the Ninth Ward, at least half a dozen units were on his tail with lights flashing and sirens blaring.

They entered a neighborhood that Champ knew well; it was where his little brother had been killed in a gang initiation, but he couldn’t worry about that right now. Still, he could not forget either.

He radioed to the other cops to continue the pursuit as he turned off Claiborne and flew down side streets, coming up facing Tommy Lee Moseby head on. They stared each other down as they sped directly at each other. It was a game of chicken to see who would flinch first. It was Moseby. He smashed his truck into a dumpster. He tried to scramble out of the truck to continue his escape, but Champ charged and tackled him hard to the pavement. By the time the other officers, including Captain Sullivan, arrived, Champ had beaten the little shit to a pulp.

The captain grabbed Champ’s arm. "No, Champ. I know how you feel, but we’ve gotta do this by the book." Champ glared at the captain with eyes of steel, and the captain knew he was licked. He ordered all the other men to back off and return to their patrols, and he returned to the station house. By the time Champ got through with Tommy Lee Moseby, he was nearly dead—but not quite. Champ dragged the bastard back to the dumpster and handcuffed him to the handle.

He scanned the neighborhood and saw a young man peering at him from behind a curtain in a second-story apartment across the street. It was J. T., the leader of the Spiders, the gang involved in his brother’s death. It had never been proven just what their involvement was, and no charges were ever brought. Champ looked down at Moseby and then back up at the window. Then, he nodded toward J.T., held up the key to the handcuffs, placed them on the pavement just out of the scumbag’s reach, got in his unit, and drove away.

"He’s not breathing!" yelled Kenny.

"Get that oxygen mask on him," barked Nurse Sullivan. Other nurses rushed into the room and began administering valporic acid to prevent seizures.

"There’s no pulse," proclaimed another nurse.

"Get the crash cart in here," demanded Dr. Shelby, who was just entering the room. "And page Dr. Galbraith at once."

To Kenny, time seemed to stop, as if the universe had played itself out and had nothing more to give. Dr. Shelby and the nurses ushered him out of the room. He paced frantically for several minutes before it dawned on him that he should call Ford’s parents. He hesitated about whether or not he should call Jeremy, but ultimately he did.

"He’s stable at the moment," Dr. Galbraith later explained to the family and friends gathered in the lounge, “but he has suffered what we call cerebral hypoxia."

"What’s that, doc?" asked Pete Leveque.

"When Ford was being suffocated, the supply of oxygen to his brain was cut off—exactly how long, we don’t know for sure, but it was enough to cause his heart to stop. Fortunately, we were able to get the oxygen flowing and the heart pumping again, but he’ll have to remain on life-support systems for a while at least. What’s more, we don’t yet know what other damage he may have sustained."

"What do you mean, doctor?" asked Mrs. Leveque.

"Well, when the brain loses its normal supply of oxygen, brain cells die, and the patient may even suffer seizures or strokes. He does not appear to have suffered any seizures, but we can’t be sure and we won’t be able to tell how extensive the damage to his brain cells is until he wakes up." Then, he took a deep breath. "And that’s the problem right now. I’m afraid he has slipped into a coma."

"Oh, dear Lord," gasped Mrs. Leveque, her husband and daughter scurrying to grab her as she slumped toward the floor.

In a warehouse in New Orleans’ Lower Ninth Ward, somewhere between 25 and 30 young men, all decorated with the ribbons and medals of urban warfare—sinister tattoos and multiple scars from knife and gunshot wounds—gathered around Tommy Lee Moseby. Each took his turn beating the crap out of him, and when he would fall unconscious, they would revive him and start again. "OK, he’s ready," pronounced T.J. And with that, the men pulled out their knives and began ripping the clothes off of him. Being the leader of the gang, T.J. got to go first. He wiped the sweat from a hot summer’s day off his brow and used it to lubricate his captive’s asshole. Then, he rammed his stiff cock in as hard as he could. Moseby screamed in agony, but that only excited T.J. and the boys all the more. They laughed and spit on the animal, for he was nothing more to them.

Another member of the gang shoved his cock into Moseby's mouth. "Owwwwwww!" He yelled, as he took a step back and kicked Moseby roundly in the jaw.

"What?" asked T.J.

"Goddam mutherfucka bit my dick!"

"All right. That does it! Benny, go get the tool box. Oh, and grab the jumper cables while you're at it."

Tommy Lee Moseby remained a guest at the Spider Warehouse B&B for the next 24 hours.

Officer Marcus Champion’s police report stated that he had tracked the suspect to a neighborhood in the Ninth Ward, where the perp had eluded capture. A subsequent report by Officer Benjamin Williams, who had graduated from the academy with Officer Bradford Leveque, stated that upon an anonymous tip, he had discovered the naked body, or what was left of it, of one Tommy Lee Moseby on the other side of a levee along the Mississippi River in the Ninth Ward. Captain John Sullivan signed off on both reports.

The coroner’s report would later show that the victim suffered multiple lacerations and abrasions to all parts of his body. His jaw and numerous other bones were broken, and his nipples had been crushed with some sort of vice-like device. Substantial amounts of semen were found in the victim’s mouth, stomach, and rectum. Extensive scarring of tissue in the rectum confirmed multiple rapes as well as the possibility of sodomy with foreign objects, such as pipes. All of his teeth had been forcibly removed without any trace of anesthesia, possibly with a pair of pliers, and his penis had been severed and stuffed into his mouth. Hair around the anus and the genitalia had been singed, perhaps with a blow torch. Evidence would suggest that all of the traumas to the body were administered pre-mortem. Cause of death: shock resulting from extreme torture.

The following day, civilians Marcus Champion and Benjamin Williams would pay a social call on a certain TV reporter.

Meanwhile, Officer Bradford Leveque, one of New Orleans’ finest, lay in a hospital bed in a coma on life support systems.

After stewing in self-pity for several days, Nick finally decided that it was time for him to man up and confront Patty Murano about Wade Dawkins. Since it was early in the day, he figured that she would be home, so he drove on over to her place. When he got there, he was in for a big surprise. A white pick-up truck was parked in her driveway. The Travis Ranch name and logo were plastered across the sides. Devastated, Nick sat across the street in his car for several minutes trying to decide on his next move when events made the decision for him. Wade Dawkins walked out of the front door of the house onto the porch, turned and kissed Patty on the cheek, got into his truck, and drove off. Rather than get out of his car and walk over to Patty’s house, Nick followed Wade’s truck for several blocks before turning on his flashing lights and pulling him over.

“Why, Sheriff, you startled me. Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong, Mr. Dawkins. I just happened to see your truck, and I thought I’d save myself a trip out to the ranch if I could just ask you a few questions.”

“Here?” asked Wade.

“Well, I don’t mean right here,” Nick feigned a happy-go-lucky laugh. “How ’bout we pull into that parking lot over there and grab a cup of coffee in Sally’s Café?”

Nick began by inquiring into Randy’s health, to which Wade responded that he was recuperating slowly, but effectively. Then, Nick took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and chickened out. Instead of asking Wade about his relationship with Patty, he continued to ask about Randy.

“Have you noticed anything different about Randy?”

“Well, like I told you before, Sheriff, his mother sent him to live with me because of the drugs and his behavior problems.”

“Yes, I know, Mr. Dawkins, but I mean since he came to live with you. Has his behavior changed in any noticeable way?”

“Well, he’s only been with me for a few months, but I thought he was beginning to settle down a bit—until all of this crap happened.”

“Nothing else? Anything at all?”

“Well, I don’t know why it would mean anything to you, but he was pretty upset about Sugar.”

“Sugar?”

“She was one of our mares. A couple of weeks ago, Randy, Johnny, and I were riding up in the foothills when a windstorm swept up out of nowhere—like they often do around here—and spooked the horses. Sugar threw Randy. He wasn’t hurt…just had the wind knocked out of him…but Sugar ripped her leg apart, and we had to put her down.”

“When you say, ‘put her down,’ do you mean that you—”

“I sent Johnny back to the bunkhouse to call Doc Weatherly.”

“And Randy?”

“I suggested that he go with Johnny, but he insisted on staying.” Wade paused to consider his words. “I just assumed that he didn’t wanna leave Sugar, but come to think of it, Johnny didn’t seem too happy about having Randy ride back with him. He never said anything, though, so I let it pass. Randy and I stayed with the mare until Johnny returned with the vet.”

“And this doctor—”

“Weatherly.”

“Dr. Weatherly put the horse to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“With some kind of injection?”

“Yes, two injections actually.”

“Mr. Dawkins, would you happen to know what kind of drugs Dr. Weatherly used to euthanize the horse?”

“Pardon me for asking, Sheriff, but what does any of this have to do with finding out who killed Carl Pipkins and who framed my son?”

“Just trying to cover all the bases, Mr. Dawkins. Now, please…do you know what kind of drugs Dr. Weatherly used on the horse?”

“No, he could’ve used any of several different drugs. He didn’t say which ones he was using that day, and I didn’t ask. Randy was upset enough as it was, and I didn’t wanna make the situation any worse for him.”

“Of course,” said Nick.

“Is there anything else, Sheriff? I’d really like to get back to the ranch.”

What Nick really wanted to ask Wade Dawkins was, “Yeah, cowboy, what the hell were you doing coming out of Patty Murano’s house this early in the morning?” Instead, he asked Wade to convey his wishes for a speedy recovery to Randy and sent the man on his way.

As soon as the sheriff returned to his car, he called Deputy Holloway and instructed him to track down a vet named Weatherly while he followed up with Dr. Singh.

Topeka, 5 years earlier

“This is your lucky day, kid.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, that bitch from Family Services was here today. Had another kid with her. Cute little bastard. The old lady said she couldn’t take another one, just didn’t have room. But I told her we’d be happy to share our room.”

“You told her what? I don’t wanna share my room with anybody else. I’ve barely got enough room as it is.”

“First, it ain’t your fuckin’ room, kid. It’s my room, and you’re lucky I let you share it with me. Second, you should be thanking me ‘cuz I’ll be outta here in a few months. I’ll let you help me break him in, and then when I’m gone, he’ll be all yours. Now shut the fuck up and roll over.”